
Glass. 
Book. 






THE 






VIGIL OF FAITH, 



OTHER POEMS. 



BY CT F; HOFFMAN, 

AUTHOR OF "GREYSLAER," &C. 



NEW-YORK! 

PUBLISHED BY S. COLMAN: 

BOLD BY COLLINS, BROTHER &; CO. PHILADELPHIA I THOMAS 
COWPERTIIWAITE & CO. BOSTON *, W. D. TICKNOR. 



M DCCC XLII, 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand 
eight hundred and forty-two, by Charles Fenno Hoffman, in 
the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New- York. 






Alex. S. Gould, Printer, 
144 Nassau St. N. Y. 



CONTENTS. 

The Vigil of Faith 5 

Moonlight on the Hudson 61 

Town Repinings 69 

The Bob-O-Linkum 71 

What is Solitude 75 

Language of Flowers , . . 77 

Indian Summer 79 

To an Autumn Rose . . . . , 81 

St. Valentine's Day 82 



ERRATA. 



Page 62, second line from the top instead of, 
" And then be calm as ever." Read, 
And then be cold and calm as ever. 

Same page, second line from the bottom, instead of 
" Tell me if thou visitest," &c. Read, 
Tell if thou visitest, &c. 

Page 72, fifth line from the bottom, instead of " the song," read 
" thy song," and second line from bottom, " thou art," instead 
of " thou arc." 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH, 

A LEGEND OF THE AD1RONDACH MOUNTAINS. 
I. 

'T was in the mellow autumn time, 
That revel of our masquing clime, 

When, as the Indian crone believes, 
The rainbow tints of nature's prime, 

She in her forest banner weaves ; 
To show in that bright blazonry, 
How the young earth did first supply 
Each gorgeous hue that paints the sky, 

Or in the sun-set billow heaves. 
1 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 



II. 

'T was in the mellow autumn time, 
When from the spongy swollen swamp, 

The lake a darker tide receives ; 
When nights are growing long and damp ; 
And at the dawn a glistering rime 

Is silvered o'er the gaudy leaves : 
When hunters leave their hill-side camp, 
With fleet hound some, the dun-deer rousing, 
In l still-hunt' some, to shoot him browsing; 
And close at night their forest tramp, 
Where the fat yearling scents their fire, 

And, new unto their murderous ways, 
Affrighted, feels his life expire 

As stupidly he stands at gaze, 
Where that wild crew sit late carousing. 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 



III. 

'T was in the mellow autumn time, 

When I, an idler from the town, 
With gun and rod was lured to climb 

Those peaks, mid which the Hudson takes 
His tribute from an hundred lakes ; 

Lakes which the sun, though pouring down 
His mid-day splendors round each isle, 

At eventide so soon forsakes 
That you may watch his fading smile 

For hours around those summits glow 
When all is gray and chill below ; 
While, in that brief autumnal day 
Still, varying all in feature, they 
As mid their watery maze you stray 
Will yet some wilding beauty show. 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 



IV. 

For he beholds, whose footfalls press 
The mosses of that wilderness, 
Each charm the glorious Hudson boasts 

Through his far reaching strand — 
When sweeping from these leafy coasts, 
His mighty march he sea-ward takes — 
First pictured in those mountain lakes, 
All fresh from nature's hand! 
Some broadly flashing to the sun, 

Like warrior's shield when first displayed, 
Some, dark, as when the battle done, 

That shield oft blackens in the glade. 
Round one that on the eye will ope 

With many a winding sunny reach, 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 

The rising hills will gently slope 

From turfy bank and pebbled beach. 

With rocks and ragged forests bound, 

Deep set in fir-clad mountains' shade, 

You trace another where resound 

The echoes of the hoarse cascade. 



V. 

Aweary with a day of toil, 
And all uncheered with hunter's spoil, 
Guiding a wet and sodden boat, 

With thing, half paddle, half an oar, 
I chanced one murky eve to float 
Along the grim and ghastly shore 
Of such wild water ; 
1* 



10 THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 

Past trees, some shooting from the bank, 
With dead boughs dipping in the wave, 
And some with trunks moss-grown and dank, 
On which the savage, that here drank 
A thousand years ago, did grave 
His tale of slaughter. 



VI. 

Gazing amid these mouldering stems, 
Through thickets from their ruins starting, 

To spy a deer-track, if I could, 
I saw the boughs anear me parting, 

Revealing what seemed two bright gems 
Gleaming from out the dusky wood ; 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 1 1 

And in that moment on the shore, 
Just where I brushed it with my oar, 
An ased Indian stood ! 



VII. 

Nay ! shrink not, lady, from my tale, 

Because erst moved by border story, 
Thy thoughtful cheek grew still more pale 
At images so dire and gory ! 
Nor yet — grown worldly since that time 
Ask — half disdainful of my rhyme, 
" An Indian ! — why, in theme so stale 

There can be no new interest, can there? 
'T was but some hunter on his stand 
Annoyed to see you near the land, 
You took him for a panther !" 



12 THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 



VIII. 

It was just so, and nothing more ; 

The deer-stand that I sought was here, 
Where too the Indian came for deer ; 

A civil fellow, seldom drunk, 
Who dragged my leaky skiff ashore, 

And pointed out a fallen trunk, 
Where sitting I could spy the brink, 

Beneath the gently tilling branches, 
And shoot the buck that came to drink 

Or wash the black-flies from his haunches. 
With this he plunged into the wood 

Saying he on the ' run-way' knew 
Another stand, and quite as good 

If but the night breeze fairly blew. 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 13 



IX. 

An hour passed by without a sign 

Of buck or doc in range appearing; 
The wind began to crisp the lake, 
The wolf to howl from out the brake, 
And I to think that boat of mine 

I'd better soon be campward steering : 
When near me thro' the black'ning nidit 
Again I saw those eyes so bright, 

And as my swarthy friend drew nigher, 
I heard these words pronounced in tone, 
Lady, as silken as thine own, 

"White man, we'd better make a fire." 



14 THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 



X. 

Our kindling stuff lay near at hand — 
Peelings of bark, some half uncoiled 
In flakes, from boughs by age despoiled, 

And some in shreds by rude winds torn ; 
Dead vines that round the dead trees clung ; 
Dry moss that from their old arms swung, 

Tattered and stained — all weather-worn, 
Like funeral weeds hung out to dry, 
Or ensigns drooping mournfully ; — 

These quickly caught the spark we fanned. 
Branches, that once waved over-head, 
Now brittlely crackling 'neath our tread, 

Fed next the greedy flame's demand. 
Lastly a fallen trunk or two — 
Which, when from weedy lair we drew, 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 15 

Across the blazing pyre we threw — 

For savory broil supplied the brand. 



XI. 

Of hemlock-fir we made our couch, 
A bed for cramps and colds consoling ; 

I had some biscuits in my pouch, 
A salmon-trout I'd killed in trolling ; 
My comrade had some venison dried, 
And corn in bear's lard lately fried : 

And, on my word, I will avouch 
That when we did our stock divide 

In equal portions, save the last, 
Apicius would not deride 

The relish of that night's repast. 



16 THE VIGIL OF FAITH 



XII. 

We talked that night — I love to talk 

With these grown children of the wild, 
When in their native forest walk, 

Confiding, simple as a child, 
They lose at times that sullen mood 
Which marks the wanderer of the wood, 
And in that pliant hour will show 

As prodigal and fresh of thought 
As genius when its feelings flow 

In words by feeling only taught. 



XIII. 

We talked — 't was first of fish and game, 
Of hunters' arts to strike their quarry, 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 17 

Of portages and lakes whose name, 
As uttered in his native speech, 
If memory could have hoarded each, 

A portage-labor 't were to carry. 
Yet one whose length — it is a score 
Of miles perhaps in length or more — 

'T is glorious to troll, 
I can recall in name and feature 
From dull oblivion's scathe 
Partly because in slim canoe 
I since have tracked it through and through, 
Partly that from this simple creature 
I heard that night a tale of faith 
Which moved my very soul. 



18 THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 



XIV. 

Yes Inca-pah-chow ! though thy name 
Has never flowed in poet's numbers, 

And all unknown, thy virgin claim 
To wild and matchless beauty, slumbers; 
Yet memory's pictures all must fade 

Ere I forget that sunset view 
When, issuing first from forest shade 
A day of storms had darker made, 

Thy floating isles and mountains blue, 
Thy waters sparkling far away- 
Round craggy point and verdant bay — 
The point with dusky cedars crowned, 
The bay with beach of silver bound — 
Upon my raptured vision grew. 

Grew every moment, brighter, fairer, 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 19 

As I, at close of that wild day, 
Emerging from the green wood nearer, 
Saw the red sun his glorious path 
Cleave through the storm-cloud's dying wrath, 

And with one broad triumphant ray 
Upon thy crimsoned waters cast, 
Sink warrior-like to rest at last. 



XV. 

u I like Lake Inca-pah-chow well," 

Half mused aloud my wild-wood friend, 
" Why, white-man, I can hardly tell, 
For fish and deer, at either end 
The rifts are good ; but run-ways more 
There are bv crooked Iroquois : 



20 THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 

And Rackett at the time of spearing, 
As well as that for yarding moose, 
Hath both, enough for hunters' use : 

Amid these hills some lakes there are, show 
More limpid waters to the eye ; 

In some at night, I've seen the star glow 
As if it dropped there from the sky; 
Better for trout I'll not deny 
Are some, where leaves will earlier fall, 

And mountain currents colder far, flow ; 
I've plied my paddle in them all — 

To me they are not Inca-pah-chow !"* 



* 'Inca-pah-chow 1 (anglice, Lindenmerb,) is so called by the Indians 
from its forests of Bass-wood or American Linden. It is better known 
perhaps by the insipid name of < Long Lake ;' and is one of that chain 
of mountain lakes which though closely interlacing with the sources of 
the Hudson, discharge themselves through Rackett river into the St. Law- 
rence. They lie on the borders of Essex in Hamilton county, New York. 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 21 



XVI. 

There was a sadness in his tone 
His careless words would fain disown ; 
And now far back in memory 
He seemed so much absorbed to be 
I'd not molest his reverie ; 
And then — in phrase I now forget, 

When I at last the silence broke — 
In the same train of musing yet, 

He watched awhile the wreathing smoke 
Curl from his lighted calumet, 

Ere answering, thus aloud he spoke : — 



22 THE VIGIL OF FAITH 



XVII. 

" Years, years ago when life was new, 
And long before there was a clearing 

Among these Adirondack-Highlands, 

My chieftain kept his best canoe 
On one of Inca-pah-chow's islands — 
The largest, which lies tow'rd the north— 
And there had built his shantie too. 
A trapper now with years o'erladen. 

He lived there with one only daughter, 
A gentle but still gamesome maiden, 
Who, I have heard, would venture forth, 
Venture upon the darkest night 
Across the broad and gusty water 
To climb that cliff upon the main, 

By some since called the maiden's rest, 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 23 

That foot save hers hath never pressed, 
And watch the camp-fire's distant light, 
Which told that she should see again 
Her hunter when the dawn was bright." 



XVIIL 

He paused — looked down, then stirred the fire, 

He smiled — I did not like that smile, 
As leaning on his elbow nigher 

His bright eyes glared in mine the while. 
And I was glad that scrutiny o'er, 
When neither had misgivings more, 
While he his tale told as before. 



2 4 THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 



XIX. 

"White -man, thy look is open, kind, 

Thou scornest not a tale of truth ! 
Should I in thee a mocker find, 

'T would shame alike thy blood and youth. 
I trust thee ! well, now look upon 

This withered cheek and shrunken form! 
Can'st think, young man, /was the one 

For whom that maiden dared the storm ? 
Yes, often, till a tribesman came — 
It matters not to speak his name — 
A youth as tall, as straight as I, 
As quick his quarry to descry, 
A hunter skillful in the chase, 
As ever moccasin did lace. 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 



-But thou shah see him, if thou wilt 
Gaze on the wreck since made by guilt - 



XX. 

" Often she dared to cross the wave 

At midnight in the wildest weather, 
While tempests round the peak would rave 

From which she watched for nights together. 
For he, that tribesman whom I loved, 

Yes, loved as if he were my brother; 
Had told her that the woods I roved 

To feed the lodge where dwelt another; 
Another who my lot did share, 
And therefore claimed a hunter's care ; 
Claimed it upon some distant shore, 
From which I would return no more. 






26 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 



XXL 

" All this in her had wrought no change, 

No anxious doubt, no jealous fear, 
But he meanwhile had words most strange, 
Breathed in my gentle Nul-kah's ear, 
Which made her wish that 1 were near : 
Words strange to her, who, simple, true, 
And only love as prosperous knew, 
Shrank from the fitful fantasy, 
Which seeming less like love than hate, 

Would cloud his moody brow when he, 
Gazing on her, arraigned the fate 
Which could such loveliness create 
Only to work him misery. 
And when she heard that lying tale, 

Her woman's heart could soon discover 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 27 

Some double treachery might assail, 

Through him, her unsuspecting lover ; 
And Love in fear, now, fearless, brought her 
On errand Love in hope first taught her. 



XXII. 

<; I came at last. She asked me naught — 
It was enough to see me there ; 

But of the friend who thus had wrought, 

Though he now streams far distant sought, 
She bade me in the woods beware. 

A wound my coming had delayed, 

And still too weak to use my gun, 

I set the nets the old chief made ; 
Baited his traps in forest glade ; 



28 THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 



And sweetly after wooed the maid 
At evening when my toils were done. 



XXIII. 
" 'T was then I chose a grassy swale, 

In which my wigwam frame to make ; 
Sheltered by crags from northern gale, 

Shaded by boughs, save tow'rd the lake. 
The Red-bird's nest above it swung ; 
The Ma-ma-twa there often suno- ; 
There too, when Spring was backward, first 
Her shrinking blossoms safely burst ; 
And there, when autumn leaf was sere, 
Some flowers still stayed the loitering year. 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 29 



XXIV. 

11 She learned full soon to love the spot, 
For who could see and love it not ? 
And there, when I the isle would leave, 

And sometimes now my gun resume, 
She'd slyly steal the mats to weave 

Which were to line our bridal room. 
Happy we were ! what love like ours, 

Blossoming thus as fresh and free 
As unrestrained as wild-wood flowers, 

Yet keeping all their purity ! 



XXV. 

" Happy we were ! my secret foe, 

How dread a foe, I knew not then, 
3 



30 THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 

Remained to fish the streams below 
That into Cadaraqui flow, 

Returning to us only when 
Some kinsmen on our bridal morn, 

Impelled by a mysterious doom 
Which with that fateful man was born, 

Brought him to shroud the day in gloom 
And blast our joys about to bloom. 



XXVI. 

"Just Manitou ! may the boat 

That bears him to the spirit land, 

For ages on those black waves float 

Which catch no light from off its strand. 

Float blindly there, still laboring on 
f 

Tow'rd shores 't is never doomed to reach ; 



■r*U VK+rV 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 31 

Float there till time itself is gone, 

And when again 't would seek the beach 
From which with that lone soul it started, 

Baffling let that before it flee, 
Till hope of rest hath all departed, 
And still when that last hope is gone, 
A guideless thing float on, float on ! 



XXVII. 

" The birds of song had sunk to rest ; 

The eagle's tireless wing was furled ; 
On Inca-pah-chow's darkening breast 
The last few golden ripples curled ; 
The distant mountains, bright before, 
Now seemed to darken more and more 
Against the eastern sky, 



32 THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 

Until a white-pine's slender cone, 
Tapering above the hill-top, shone, 
And showed the moon was nigh. 
Our friends, they all stood gravely round 
Waiting until that moon should rise, 
The bridal moon whose aspect crowned 
For good or ill our destinies: 
The signal too, the hour had come, 
When I could claim my bride and home. 



XXVIII. 

" Blushing at that fast-brightening sky, 
When on her father's lodge it shone, 

How did she shrink within, when I 

Would lead that loved one to my own ! 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 33 

Forth stepped e'en then that murderous guest 
Who grimly stood amid the rest, 

And, while his knife he drew, 
With cry that made us all aghast, 
And frantic gesture hurrying past, 

He sprang the threshold through. 



XXIX. 

u A shriek ! and I with soul of flame 

Devoured the fearful space between, 
Another and another came 

E'en while my grip was on his throat, 
Where writhing in the dark unseen 

His victim in her gore did float ; 
And life was oozing through each wound 

That gashed her lovely form about, 
3* 



34 THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 

When hurling him upon the ground, 
I bore her to the light without, 

XXX. 

" Aided by that untimely beam, 

Which harbingered such bridal woes, 
I watched its ebbing current gleam, 

And watching would not, could not deem 
That blessed life's too precious stream 
Growing each moment darker, colder, 
E'en while I to my heart did fold her, 
Already at its close. 
She tried to speak — then pressed my hand, 

And looked — oh looked into my eyes 
As if through them the spirit-land 
Did first upon her vision rise, 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 35 

As if her soul that could not stay 
Through mine might only pass away. 



XXXI. 

11 1 know not when that look did fade, 

Nor when did fail that dying grasp, 
Nor how they loosed the lifeless maid 

Stiffening within love's desperate clasp. 
The sod upon her grave was green, 

The leaflet greening on the oak, 
The autumn and the winter o'er 

When I once more to sense awoke, 
Awoke to know some joys had been 
Which now to me could be no more. 



36 THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 



XXXII. 

"He still was there, that youth accurst, 

Who thus through blood his end had sought, 

He who with frenzied love athirst 

Such wreck of loveliness had wrought. 

He still was there, for while I breathed, 
With sense and feeling almost gone — 

The aged father, thus bereaved, 

Raving the wretch should still live on — 
Of all our friends there was not one 

Would deal the vengeance they believed 
'T was mine on him to wreak alone. 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 37 



XXXIII. 
"He still was there. 'T was he that kept 
A nurse's watch while thus I slept: 

Ever and ever by my side, 
With anxious eye and noiseless tread, 
Hanging about my fevered bed, 

With none he would his task divide ; 
Trembling, with jealous fears afraid, 

When near the grave I seemed to hover, 
Lest that bright land which claimed the maid, 
Was opening too upon her lover. 



XXXIV. 

" And now, when no more languishing, 

My mind and strength became renewed, 



38 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 



Amid the balmy airs of spring, 

And I once more could take the wood ; 
Think you he feared the bloody fate 
Which blood will alway expiate ? 
Oh no ! he looked too far before — 
Looked far beyond this fleeting shore, 
Where bliss will die as soon as born ! 
He hoped, he blindly trusted he 

That on the instant that I woke, 
Revenge would be so fierce in me, 

I'd madly deal some deathful stroke 
Would send his soul where hers was gone ! 



XXXV. 
"But I — I knew too well his guile, 
'T was whispered me in dreams the while. 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 39 

I saw a form about my bed, 
That alvvay shrunk from him with dread : 
? T would come by night, 't would come by day, 
But clearest in the moonbeam show, 
Then alway as is nearer drew 
Ere melting from my wistful view, 
With palm reversed it seemed to say, 
'If yet thou wilt not with me go, 
Keep him — Oh keep but him awayP 



XXXVI. 

11 And did I not? aye, while the knell 
Of youth and hope yet echoed by, 

Did I not then allay thy fears, 
Disturbed soul, that his was nigh ? 

And o'er the waste of dreary years, 



40 THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 

On which heart-withered doomed to dwell, 
I look with wearying vision back — 
Have I not on that desert track, 
Sweet spirit, kept love's vigil well? 

Oh have I not! Yes — though no more 
I see at night those moon-touched fingers, 
Still beckoning as they did of yore ; 

And though the features of my love, 
As near me still in dreams she lingers, 

Look bright, as yon bright star above, 
And peaceful, as in that blest time, 
When our young loves were in their prime — 
I know that, from the land of shades, 
When wandering thus to haunt these glades, 
The vigil to her soul is dear 
I kept, and still am keeping here ! 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 41 

-Enough of this, thou still would'st know 
How dealt I with my mortal foe ! 



XXXVII. 

11 The stag that snuffs the breeze of morn, 

Where first it lifts the birchen spray, 
Gazing on lakes all newly born 

From valley mists that roll awaj^, 
Treads not 'mid upland ferns more free, 

Looks not with eye more bright below, 
Than moved and looked that man, when he 
Strode forth and stood beneath the tree 

To bide my avenging hatchet's blow : 
The crestless doe, whose faint limbs sink 

Beside the rill to which they bore her — 
Life-stricken on its very brink 
4 



11 



42 THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 

That instant when she'd gasping drink 

From the bright wave that leaps before her— 
Lies not more lowly and forlorn, 

All stretched upon the forest leaves, 
Than 'neath the tree that Outcast lay, 

When, by that gleaming hatchet shorn, 
His warrior-tuft is cleft away, 
And he the living doom receives 
To wander thus where'er he may, 
Of woman and of man the scorn.* 

* In some tribes when the penalty of death is thus changed for that of 
degradation, the criminal who so regains his forfeited life is considered as 
unsexcd. He then becomes the menial and slave of the first person who 
chooses to take possession of him, and is obliged to submit to tasks of ex- 
posure the most toilsome, and domestic offices the most humiliating ; 
his master, or owner, (or husband, as he is sometimes whimsically called,) 
being permitted to exercise every species of tyrannical cruelty upon him, 
provided he shed not the blood of the poor wretch who is thus subjected 
to his caprices. See Schoolcraft ; see also * The Equawish,' in 'Life on 
the Lakes' by the Author of ' Legends of a Log Cabin. 1 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 43 



XXXVIII. 
11 A month went by ; the brushwood's blaze 

No more from that cold hearth ascended 
Where the old chief his failing days, 

Shortened by grief, had meanwhile ended: 
A month, and that deserted isle 

Was left alone to me and her ! 
The summer had begun to smile, 

The winds of June the leaves to stir, 
And flowers, that budded late the while, 
To bloom above her sepulchre ; 
Meek, pallid things, grave-nursed below, 
That feebly there as yet would grow, 
Brighter in coming years to blow — 
And where was he whose fell despair 
The Flower of Love laid bleeding there ? 






44 THE VIGIL OF FAITH 



XXXIX. 

" Shooting from out the leafy land, 

Right opposite our island home, 
There was a narrow spit of sand, 
O'er which the wave, on either hand, 

Would fling at times its crest of foam. 
And here — as I one morning stood 

Upon a rock which faced that beach — 
I saw, wild rushing from the wood, 

Within my loaded rifle's reach, 
A figure that distracted ran 

Until it gained the frothy marge, 
And there, an unarmed, kneeling man, 

Bare his broad bosom to my charge ! 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 45 



XL. 

11 1 stood, but did not raise the gun — 

Although it rattled in my grasp — 
I stood and coldly looked upon 

The suppliant, who, still lower bent, 

His hands in agony did clasp, 
As if the soul within him pent 
Would rend its penal tenement. 
At last, with low half smothered cry 

And quivering frame, he gained his feet, 
And to the woods began to fly, 

Growing at every step more fleet, 
But from that hour where'er he fled 
As fleetly I too followed ! 



46 THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 



XLI. 

11 One moment was enough to bind 

Firmly my weapons on my head, 
The strait was swum, and far behind 

The crested waves effaced my tread 
Upon the beach, o'er which I sped 
So swiftly that the forest glade 
At once the wanderer's trail betrayed. 
And though it led o'er rocky ledge, 
Led oft within the pool's black edge, 

'T was soon revealed anew — 
The springy moss just crisping back, 
I saw upon his recent track, 
Nor paused to trace it in the brook, 
Whose alders still behind him shook 
Where he had bounded through. 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 47 



XLII. 

"And — when again the stream he crossed, 
Where in its forks, awhile I lost 

His trail, amid the maze 
Of severing rills, and runways wound 
About the deer-lick's trampled ground — 
The very living things around, 
Which in these forest depths abound, 
The sable darting from the fern, 
The gliding ermine — each in turn, 

His whereabout betrays : 
From plunging beaver's warning stroke, 
From wood-duck whirring from the oak, 
And screaming loon, alike I learn 

Where lead the wanderer's ways. 



48 THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 



XLIIL 

" At length within a broken dell, 

Where a gnarled beech the thunder's shock 
Had parted from the leaning rock, 
Among its cable roots, he fell; 

Where, panting, soon I saw him lie, 
Shrivelling against the blasted trunk 

With knees drawn up and cowering eye, 
As if my avenging tread had shrunk 

The miscreant there as I drew nigh. 
I spoke not — but I gazed upon 
That wolf with fangs and courage gone, 
Gazed on his quailing features till 

Their furtive glance was fixed by mine, 
And I could see his writhing will 
Her feeble throne to me resign. 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 49 



XLIV. 
11 He rose an abject, broken man, 
He dared not fight — he dared not fly, 

His very life in my veins ran, 
Who ivould not let him cast it by f 
And still he is the thing that then 
He wilted to, within that glen : 

Living — if life be drawing breath — 
But dead in all that last should die, 
For him there is no farther death 
Till from the earth he withereth. 



XLV. 

"I hunt for him — I dress his food, 
I guide his footsteps in the wood, 



50 THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 



Or, when alone for game I'd beat, 

Direct where we at night shall meet. 

He cleans my arms— my snow-shoes makes ; 

He bales my shallop on the lakes, 

And when with fishing-spear I glide 

At mid-night o'er the silent tide, 

'T is he who holds the pine-knot torch, 
That seems her blazing path to scorch 

Where waves o'er reddening shoals divide. 



XLVI. 

"With me he now is alway meek, 

But sometimes, chafing in his thrall, 

He to my dog will sharply speak, 

Who comes, or comes not at his call. 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 51 

They both are in my camp below, 

From which, I now in hunting weather, 

For days can often safely go, 

Leaving the two alone together. 

But in those years my watch began 
His limbs were agile as my own, 

And sometimes then the tortured man, 

For weeks beyond my search hath flown, 
In shades more deep to breathe alone. 



XLVII. 

11 Yet ever in his wildest mood, 

He would some mystic power obey, 

Which from that island's haunted wood 
Ne'er let him wander far away, 



52 THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 

And alway soon or late I could 
Steal on him in his solitude : 
"While oft, as weaker grew his brain, 
And he forgot God's law of blood, 
I've tracked the poor, bewildered thing, 
"Wherever he was famishing ; 
And snatched him o'er and o'er again, 

From death he sought by fell and flood. 



XLVIIL 

"And thus as crowding seasons changed, 

When many a year was dead and gone, 
I 'mid these lakes in manhood ranged, 
Where yet in age I wander on, 
And still o'er that poor slave I've kept 
A vigil that hath never slept; 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 53 

And while upon this earth I stay, 
From her I'll still keep him away — 
From her whom I at last shall see 
My own, my own eternally ! 



XLIX. 

Vhite-man ! I say not that they lie 
Who preach a faith so dark and drear, 
That wedded hearts in yon cold sky 
Meet not as they were mated here. 
But scorning not thy faith, thou must 
Stranger, in mine have equal trust ; 
The Red-man's faith by Him implanted, 
Who souls to both our races granted. 
Thou know'st in life we mingle not, 
Death cannot chancre our different lot ! 



54 THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 

He who hath placed the White-man's heaven 
Where hymns in vapory clouds are chaunted, 
To harps by angel fingers played ; 
Not less on his Red children smiles, 
To whom a land of souls is given, 

Where in the ruddy west arrayed, 
Brighten our blessed hunting isles. 



L. 

" There souls again to youth are born, 
A youth that knows no withering ! 

There, blithe and bland, the breeze of morn 
Fresheneth an eternal Spring 

'Mid trees, and flowers and water-falls. 
And fountains bubbling from the moss, 
And leaves that quiver with delight, 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 55 

As from their shade the warbler calls, 
Or, choiring, glances to the light 
On wings which never lose their gloss: 
There brooks that bear their buds away, 
From branches that will bend above them, 
So closely they could not but love them, 
To the same bowers again will stray 

From which at first they murmuring sever, 
Still floating back their blossoms to them, 

Still with the same sweet music ever, 
Returning yet once more to woo them : 

There love, like bird and brook and blossom, 
Is young forever in each bosom ! 



56 THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 



LI. 

" Those blissful Islands of the West ! 

I've seen myself, at sun-set time, 
The golden lake in which they rest ; 
Seen too the barques that bear The Bk 
Floating toward that fadeless clime 
First dark, just as they leave our shore, 
Their sides then brightening more and more, 
Till in a flood of crimson light 
They melted from my straining sight. 
-And she, who climbed the storm-swept sleep, 
She who the foaming wave would daic\ 
So oft love's vigil here to keep — 
Stranger, albeit thou think'st I doat, 
I know — I know she watches there ! 
Watches upon that radiant strand, 



THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 57 



Watches to see her lover's boat 
Approach The Spirit-Land." 



LII. 

He ceased, and spoke no more that night, 

Though oft, when chillier blew the blast, 
I saw him moving in the light 

The fire, that he was feeding, cast ; 
While I, still wakeful, pondered o'er 
His wondrous story more and more. 
I thought, not wholly waste the mind 
Where Faith so deep a root could find, 
Faith which both love and life could save, 

And keep the first, in age still fond, 
Thus blossoming this side the grave 
In steadfast trust of fruit beyond. 
5* 



58 THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 

And when in after years I stood 

By Inca-pah-chow's haunted water, 

Where long ago that hunter wooed 

In early youth its island daughter, 
And traced the voiceless solitude 
Once witness of his loved one's slaughter — 
At that same season of the leaf 
In which I heard him tell his grief — 
I thought some day I'd weave in rhyme, 
That tale of mellow autumn time. 



OCCASIONAL POEMS, 



MOONLIGHT ON THE HUDSON. 

WRITTEN AT WEST POINT. 

Pm not romantic, but, upon my word, 

There are some moments when one can't help feeling 
As if his heart's chords were so strongly stirred 

By things around him, that 'tis vain concealing 
A little music in his soul still lingers 

Whene'er its keys are touched by Nature's fingers: 

And even here, upon this settee lying, 

With many a sleepy traveller near me snoozing, 

Thoughts warm and wild are through my bosom flying, 
Like founts when first into the sunshine oozing : 



62 MOONLIGHT ON THE HUDSON. 

For who can look on mountain, sky and river, 
Like these, and then be calm as ever ! 

Bright Dian, who, Camilla-like, dost skim yon 
Azure fields — Thou who, once earthward bending, 

Didst loose thy virgin zone to young Endymion 
On dewy Latmos to his arms descending — 

Thou whom the world of old on every shore, 

Type of thy sez, Triformis, did adore : 

Tell me — where'er thy silver barque be steering 

By bright Italian or soft Persian lands, 
Or o'er those island-studded seas careering, 

Whose pearl-charged waves dissolve on coral strands ; 
Tell me if thou visitest, thou heavenly rover, 
A lovelier stream than this the wide world over ? 



MOONLIGHT ON THE HUDSON. 63 

Doth Achelous or Araxes flowing 

Twin born from Pindus, but ne'er meeting brothers — 
Doth Tagus o'er his golden pavement glow r ing, 

Or cradle-freighted Gauges, the reproach of mothers, 
The storied Rhine, or far-famed Guadalquiver, 
Match they in beauty my own glorious river ? 

What though no cloister gray nor ivied column 
Alons: these cliffs their sombre ruins rear? 

What though no frowning tower nor temple solemn 
Of tyrants tell and superstition here — 

What though that mouldering fort's fast-crumbling walls 

Did ne'er enclose a baron's bannered halls — 

Its sinking arches once gave back as proud 
An echo to the war-blown clarion's peal, 



64 MOONLIGHT ON THE HUDSON. 

As gallant hearts its battlements did crowd 

As ever beat beneath a vest of steel, 
When herald's trump on knighthood's haughtiest day 
Called forth chivalric host to battle fray : 

For here amid these woods did he keep court, 
Before whose mighty soul the common crowd 

Of heroes, who alone for fame have fought, 

Are like the patriarchs' sheaves to heaven's chosen 
bowed — 

He who his country's eagle taught to soar, 

And fired those stars which shine o'er every shore. 

And sights and sounds at which the world have wondered 
Within these wild ravines have had their birth ; 

Young Freedom's cannon from these glens have thundered, 
And sent their startling voices o'er the earth; 



MOONLIGHT ON THE HUDSON. 65 

And not a verdant glade nor mountain hoary 
But treasures up within the glorious story. 

And yet not rich in high-souled memories only, 
Is every moon-kissed headland round me gleaming, 
!!ach caverned glen and leafy valley lonely, 

And silver torrent o'er the bald rock streaming : 
Jut such soft, fancies here may breathe around, 
Ls make Vaucluse and Clarens hallowed ground. 

7 heve, tell me where, pale watcher of the night — 
Thou that to love so oft hast lent its soul, 
Since the lorn Lesbian languished 'neath thy light, 

Or fated Romeo to his Juliet stole — 
Where dost thou find a fitter place on earth 
To nurse young love in hearts like theirs to birth ? 

6 



66 MOONLIGHT ON THE HUDSON. 

Oh, loiter not upon that fairy shore 
To watch the lazy barques in distance glide, 

When sun-set brightens on their sails no more, 
And stern-lights twinkle in the dusky tide, 

Loiter not there, young heart, at that soft hour, 

What time the Queen of night proclaims love's power. 

Even as I gaze, upon my memory's track 
Bright as yon coil of light along the deep, 

A scene of early youth comes dream-like back, 

Where two stand gazing from the tide-washed steep, 

A sanguine strippling, just tow'rd manhood flushing, 

A girl, scarce yet in ripened beauty blushing. 

The hour is his ! and while his hopes are soaring 
Doubts he that maiden will become his bride ? 



MOONLIGHT ON THE HUDSON. 67 

Can she resist that gush of wild adoring 

Fresh from a heart full-volumed as the tide ? 
Tremulous, but radiant, is that peerless daughter 
Of loveliness, as is the star-strewn water! 

The moist leaves glimmer as they glimmered then. 

Alas ! how oft have they been since renewed, 
How oft the whip-poor-will, from yonder glen, 

Each year has whistled to her callow brood, 
How oft have lovers by yon star's same gleam, 
Dreamed here of bliss — and wakened from their dream ! 

But now, bright Peri of the skies, descending 
Thy pearly car hangs o'er yon mountain's crest, 

And Night, more nearly now each step attending, 
As if to hide thy envied place of rest, 






68 MOONLIGHT ON THE HUDSON. 



Closes at last thy very couch beside, 
A matron curtaining a virgin bride. 



Farewell ! Though tears on every leaf are starting, 
While through the shadowy boughs thy glances quiver, 

As of The Good, when Heaven-ward hence departing, 
Shines thy last smile upon the placid river. 

So — could I fling o'er glory's tide one ray — 

Would I too steal from this dark world away 



TOWN REPININGS. 

River, oh river, thou rovest free 
From the mountain height to the fresh blue sea, 
Free thyself, while in silver chain 
Linking each charm of land and main. 
Calling at first thy banded waves 
From hill-side thickets and fern-hid caves, 
From the splintered crag thou leap'st below, 
Through leafy glades at will to flow — 
Idling now 'mid the dallying sedge, 
Slumbering now by the steep's mossed edge, 
With statelier march once more to break 
From wooded valley to breezy lake ; 



70 TOWN REPININGS. 

Yet all of these scenes though fair they be 
River, oh river, are banned to me ! 

River, oh river ! upon thy tide 
Gaily the freighted vessels glide, 
Would that thou thus could'st bear away 
The thoughts that burthen my weary day, 
Or that I, from all, save them, set free, 
Though laden still, might rove with thee. 
True that thy waves brief life-lime find, 
And live at the will of the wanton wind — 
True that thou seekest the ocean's flow 
To be lost therein for evermoe ! 
Yet the slave who worships at Honor's shrine, 
But toils for a bubble as frail as thine, 
But loses his freedom here, to be 
Forgotten as soon as in death set free. 






THE BOB-0-LINKUM. 

Thou vocal sprite — thou feathered troubadour ! 

In pilgrim weeds through many a clime a ranger, 
Com'st thou to doff thy russet suit once more, 

And play in foppish trim the masquing stranger ? 
Philosophers may teach thy whereabouts and nature ; 

But wise, as all of us, perforce, must think ? em, 
The school-boy best hath fixed thy nomenclature, 

And poets, too, must call thee Bob-O-Linkum. 



Say! art thou, long 'mid forest glooms benighted, 
So glad to skim our laughing meadows over — 



72 THE BOB-0-LINKUM. 

With our gay orchards here so much delighted, 
It makes thee musical thou airy rover? 

Or are those buoyant notes the pilfered treasure 

Of fairy isles, which thou hast learned to ravish 

Of all their sweetest minstrelsy at pleasure, 
And, Ariel-like, again on men to lavish ? 



They tell sad stories of thy mad-cap freaks, 

Wherever o'er the land thy pathway ranges ; 
And even in a brace of wandering weeks, 

They say, alike the song and plumage changes : 
Here both are gay ; and when the buds put forth, 

And leafy June is shading rock and river, 
Thou are unmatched, blithe warbler of the North, 

While through the balmy air thy clear notes quiver. 



THE BOB-0-LINKUM. 73 

Joyous, yet tender — was that gush of song 

Caught from the brooks, where 'mid its wild flowers 
smiling, 
The silent prairie listens all day long, 

The only captive to such sweet beguiling ; 
Or did'st thou, flitting through the verdurous halls 

And columned isles of western groves symphonious, 
Learn from the tuneful woods, rare madrigals, 

To make our flowering pastures here harmonious. 



Caught'st thou thy carol from Otawa maid, 

Where, through the liquid fields of wild rice plashing 

Brushing the ears from off the burdened blade, 

Her birch canoe o'er some lone lake is flashing? 
Or did the reeds of some savannah South, 

Detain thee while thy northern flight pursuing, 



74 THE BOB-0-LINKUM. 

To place those melodies in thy sweet mouth, 

The spice-fed winds had taught them in their woo- 
ing ? 



Unthrifty prodigal ! — is no thought of ill 

Thy ceaseless roundelay disturbing ever? 
Or doth each pulse in choiring cadence still 

Throb on in music till at rest forever ? 
Yet now in wildered maze of concord floating, 

'T would seem that glorious hymning to prolong, 
Old Time in hearing thee might fall a-doating, 

And pause to listen to thy rapturous song ! 



WHAT IS SOLITUDE. 

Not in the shadowy wood 

Not in the crag-hung glen, 
Not where the echoes brood 

In caves untrod by men ; 
Not by the bleak sea shore, 

Where barren surges break, 
Not on the mountain hoar, 

Not by the breeze less lake ; 
Not on the desert plain 

Where man hath never stood, 
Whether on isle or main — 

Not there is solitude ! 



76 WHAT IS SOLITUDE. 

Birds are in woodland bowers ; 

Voices in lonely dells ; 
Streams to the listening hours 

Talk in earth's secret cells ; 
Over the gray-ribbed sand. 

Breathe Ocean's frothy lips ; 
Over the still lake's strand 

The wild flower tow'rd it dips ; 
Pluming the mountain's crest 

Life tosses in its pines ; 
" Coursing the desert's breast 

Life in the steed's mane shines. 

Leave — if thou would'st be lonely — ] 
Leave Nature for the crowd ; 

Seek there for one — one only 

With kindred mind endowed ! 



THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 77 

There — as with Nature erst 

Closely thou would'st commune — 
The deep soul-music nursed 

In either heart, attune ! 
Heart-wearied thou wilt own, 

Vainly that phantom wooed, 
That thou at last hast known 

What is true Solitude ! 



THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 

Teach thee their language ? sweet, I know no tongue, 
No mystic art those gentle things declare, 

I ne'er could trace the schoolman's trick among 
Created things, so delicate and rare: 



78 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 

Their language ? Prythee ! why they are themselves 
But bright thoughts syllabled to shape and hue, 

The tongue that erst was spoken by the elves, 

When tenderness as yet within the world was new. 

And oh, do not their soft and starry eyes — 

Now bent to earth, to heaven now meekly pleading, 
Their incense fainting as it seeks the skies, 

Yet still from earth with freshening hope receding — 
Say, do not these to every heart declare, 

With all the silent eloquence of truth, 
The language that they speak is Nature's prayer, 

To give her back those spotless days of youth? 



INDIAN SUMMER, 1828. 

Light as love's smiles the silvery mist at morn 
Floats in loose flakes along the limpid river ; 
The Blue-bird's notes upon the soft breeze borne, 

As high in air he carols, faintly quiver ; 
The weeping birch, like banners idly waving, 
Bends to the stream, its spicy branches laving; 

Beaded with dew the witch-elm's tassels shiver ; 
The timid rabbit from the furze is peeping, 
And from the springy spray the squirrel's gaily leaping. 

I love thee, Autumn, for thy scenery, ere 
The blasts of winter chase the varied dyes 



80 INDIAN SUMMER. 

That richly deck the slow-declining year ; 
I love the splendor of thy sun-set skies, 
The gorgeous hues that tinge each failing leaf, 
Lovely as beauty's cheek, as woman's love too, brief; 

I love the note of each wild bird that flies, 
As on the wind he pours his parting lay, 
And wings his loitering flight to summer climes away. 

Oh Nature ! fondly I still turn to thee 
With feelings fresh as e'er my childhood's were; — 

Though wild and passion-tost my youth may be, 
Toward thee I still the same devotion bear ; 

To thee — to thee — though health and hope no more 

Life's wasted verdure may to me restore — 

Still — still, child-like I come, as when in prayer 

I bowed my head upon a mother's knee, 
And deemed the world, like her, all truth and purity. 



TO AN AUTUMN ROSE. 

Tell her I love her — love her for those eyes 

Now soft with feeling, radiant now with mirth 

Which, like a lake reflecting autumn skies, 

Reveal two heavens here to us on Earth — 

The one in which their soulful beauty lies, 

And that wherein such soulfulness has birth : 

Go to my lady ere the season flies, 

And the rude winter comes thy bloom to blast — 

Go ! and with all of Eloquence thou hast, 
The burning story of my love discover, 
And if the theme should fail, alas ! to move her, 

Tell her when youth's gay summer-flowers are past, 

Like thee, my love, will blossom to the last ! 



ST. VALENTINE'S DAY. 

The snow yet in the hollow lies ; 

But, where by shelvy hill 't is seen, 
A thousand rills — its waste supplies — 

Are trickling over beds of green 
Down in the meadow glancing wings 

Flit in the sun-shine round a tree, 
Where still a frosted apple clings, 

Regale for early Chickadee : 

And chesnut buds begin to swell, 

Where Flying-squirrels peep to know 

If from the tree-top, yet, *t were well 
To sail on leathery wing below — 



st. valentine's day. 83 

As gently shy and timorsome, 

Still holds she back who should be mine ; 
Come, Spring, to her coy bosom, come, 

And warm it tow'rd her Valentine ! 

Come, Spring, and w r ith the breeze that calls 

The wind-flower by the hill-side rill, 
The soft breeze that by orchard walls 

First dallies with the daffodill — 
Come lift the tresses from her cheek, 

And let me see the blush divine, 
That mantling there, those curls would seek 

To hide from her true Valentine. 

Come, Spring, and with the Red-breast's note. 
That tells of bridal tenderness, 



84 st. valentine's day. 

Where on the breeze he'll warbling float 
Afar his nesting mate to bless — 

Come, whisper 't is not alway Spring ! 

When birds may mate on every spray — 

That April boughs cease blossoming ! 
With love it is not always May ! 

Come, touch her heart with thy soft tale, 

Of tears within the floweret's cup, 
Of fairest things that soonest fail, 

Of hopes we vainly garner up — 
And while, that gentle heart to melt, 

Like mingled wreath, such tale you twine, 
Whisper what lasting bliss were felt 

In lot shared with her Valentine. 

THE END. 



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